


Deep Sleep.

by whatisgoingonmydudes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Fantasy, Fiction, Future, Gen, Male Main Character, POV First Person, Post-Apocalypse, chapters, deep sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatisgoingonmydudes/pseuds/whatisgoingonmydudes
Summary: Emerging from an underground prison cell, a mysterious boy finds himself in a strange world of old and new. With no memory of his name or how he got here, he sets off to explore the vast land, eventually piecing together the events of the past.





	Deep Sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this is an animation idea I have that I'd like to animate, so rather than forget it I just turned it into a readable story so I can look back on it and animate it once I have the software lol, enjoy :)

Warm, yellow sunlight cascaded down into the cell through the corroded iron bars. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting as the light flooded my vision. My head was pounding, and I didn't remember much of what had happened beforehand. Come to think about it, what can I remember? My name... My name is... Shit. What is my name? Why didn't I know my name? I suddenly felt sick and sat up quickly before slumping into my lap, my head in my hands. Oh my god, I'm gonna be sick. What do I even look like? Why am I here? Where is here? I removed my hands from my eyes and stretched, arching my back. I looked up at the ceiling. It was cracked. Different plants had nestled into the small crevices of the wall, and ivy had made its way all over the ceiling and the walls. Behind the large cracks was a solid wall of what appeared to be sandstone. Where am I? I looked around the room, its walls closely resembling the appearance of the ceiling. I looked down at my shoes, realising that I was stepping in a sand-covered concrete floor. Sand? I stood up abruptly, making my way over to the iron bars at the front of the room. They were old and rusty, visible scratches and mould. I reached out and shook the gate. They moved slightly. I could probably get out of here, with a little force. With a huff, I swung my black-booted foot as hard as I could into the bars. They shuddered before falling over, the metallic vibrations echoing within the cell. I stood there, in silence. Should I leave? I don't even know what's out there, it might be dangerous. I squatted, violently aware of the situation I was in. I felt sick again. It's so uncomfortable to not know anything. I felt like an impostor in my own body, a fraud with nowhere to go. Will I see people when I leave? Do I need supplies? I fell back onto the sandy concrete floor, questions overwhelming me. I squeezed my eyes shut, silently praying that this was all just a dream and that I would wake up again.

No. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself, and instead find a way out of this mess. I can't just lie here and expect everything to work out on its own. I opened my eyes and sat up. I needed to do _something_. First, my name. My name... Nope. Still nothing. I hoped that it would come to me soon. It felt... weird. I looked around the room, hoping to see something that might jog my memory, before becoming distracted by a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. I went over to have a look at myself. My skin was... different. My usually olive-tan skin had gotten a little darker, and my usually light freckles had become overwhelming, covering my face with its dark brown spots. My eyes... they're the same green colour they'd always been, but they looked older. Tired, even. I had dark circles around my eyes, almost startling me as I noticed them. Am I older? My hair... My hair? It's usual black colour now had grey streaks peppered all over. My once clean-shaven face was now half-grey and stubbled. What the fuck? I felt warm and dizzy again, stumbling backwards a little bit. I reached for my leather jacket, hastily pulling it off and throwing it to the floor. I was sweating now. I mean, you could _see_ the sweat stains on my white t-shirt _very_ clearly. Oh my god, I was wearing sweatpants. I reached down and tried tearing the warm black fabric, to no avail. As the mirror was already badly cracked, with a little more force I could get my hands on one of the shards and cut myself some makeshift shorts.

Without thinking, I balled my hand up into a fist and punched the mirror. What the fuck, why the hell did I do that? My hand, understandably, began bleeding, small shards of glass embedded into my knuckles. On the bright side, I had a large, sharp, shard of glass. I quickly cut the sweatpants just above my knee and rolled them up a little. I began to carefully pick out the shards of glass in my right hand, before wrapping my knuckles with the excess fabric. Okay, idiot. Maybe next time you should think before you act. I looked at my reflection in the shards of mirror littering the floor. It was confusing. It felt like there was something not right about my reflection. It was definitely strange, that's for sure. I looked older, but I didn't feel like it if that made sense. I think I was ready for whatever was waiting for me outside. I picked my jacket up off the ground and brought one arm over my shoulder and one under my opposite armpit, much like a sash. I tied it securely and scoured the room for anything that looked blunt and could do some damage. There was an old pipe on the ground. That should do. I picked it up and slipped it on my back, the jacket fixing it in position. I stood at the exit of the cell, my feet barely touching the iron bars on the floor. I stared out into the darkness in front of me, the light from the high-up window being my only comfort. 

Was I ready? Hell no. Was I gonna leave anyway? I guess I had no choice. 


End file.
